


'Cause every time I see you, I don't wanna behave

by nomadwidow



Series: Ain't you ever seen a princess be a bad bitch? [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Exhibitionism, F/M, Foreplay, Light BDSM, Masturbation, Modern Royalty, Out of Character, Porn, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Sex, Possessive Steve Rogers, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Princes & Princesses, Royalty, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-24 06:09:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18565504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nomadwidow/pseuds/nomadwidow
Summary: Royalty AU. In order for the House of Romanov to survive beyond the Princess Natalia Alianovna of Russia, she must marry of noble blood. Her best match is with Robert, Prince of Scotland, even though her heart (and other parts of her anatomy) belong to a different prince.





	'Cause every time I see you, I don't wanna behave

**Author's Note:**

  * For [salacious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/salacious/gifts).



> This story is a reboot version of the [original](https://mhysamerica.tumblr.com/post/183870753562/hey-okay-so-considering-that-ive-been-sucked), by [chalantness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chalantness).

The palace of Robert, Prince of Scotland (or Bruce, as he’s better known) is situated right at the bottom of the Royal Mile in Edinburgh. Locals and tourists vie for position along the crowded sidewalks. Paparazzi are packed tightly amongst the crowd, hoping to catch any and every royal with their cameras.

 

Princess Natalia Alianovna of Russia (or as she’s better known, Natasha) sits on the couch in her rooms at the palace, fingering the scroll in her hands. She needs a husband of noble blood to keep her royal house intact, so the prince’s ball tonight is crucial to her immediate future. Women from over the world are in town for a chance with him, so she’s got competition. He is a sound choice for her: he’s intelligent and well-educated. She may not be attracted to him, but he is simply an ideal match. She hopes to have a shot with him.

 

A bath is drawn for her, warm waters infused with the most expensive oils from the personal collection of Bruce’s mother, Queen Rebecca. She falls asleep in the tub, and a dream takes shape. She wakes by her own moan, the sensitive skin between her legs pulsating and beating with a heart of its own. Her fingers are wet and not necessarily from her bath. Considerably embarrassed and surprised, she sinks into the water, and buries her face into her hands.

 

She walks out of the bathroom, still naked, when a presence startles her.

 

“Shit!” She shrieks, aghast, instinctively covering her breasts and sex as best she could.

 

The man of her (wet) dream—or dreams, because, let’s face it, she's been having a lot lately—stands before her, looking down and up at her. His hands are folded in front of him, proper and prim. “Language! Is that how a princess talks?” 

 

No longer covering herself, she scoffs and walks past him. Immediately, he notices the slight limp to her walk. As he pulls his gloves off, a dark, low smirk grows from his lips. “I see you started without me.”

 

Picking up the red dress from her bed, she unfastens the hooks at the front of her dress. “I don’t have time for you, Steve. I have to get ready,” she says with her back to him. 

 

 

Upon tossing his gloves on the bed, Prince Steven (Steve) of the United States of America, snatches her dress from her grasp. "Is this what you're wearing tonight?"

 

She’s now facing him. "Yes," she responds somewhat indignantly. "Why?"

 

His eyes are dark as they roam over her body. "This is my favorite dress."

 

It’s the same dress that she wore for the wedding of Thor, the Crown Prince of Norway, to the Baronetess, Dame Jane Foster, when they snuck off to Thor’s garden and broke one of the benches they were fucking on—the sex was that good, probably their best, thanks to her red dress.

 

Instead, she answers, amiably, snatching her dress back. "This is one of my best dresses." He tilts his head, a naughty glint in his eyes, as if to say, "I know." 

 

The memory of him fucking her in the dress flashes through her mind, but is instantly dismissed. She couldn't do this right now. She has to focus on her duties as a princess. “I have to look my best for Bruce.”

 

His smile disappears, morphing into something she can't quite recognize. “You’re already on a nickname basis?”

 

She ignores his jealous tone. “I need to get dressed.”

 

He cocks an eyebrow. "That's hilarious, considering the dress barely covers anything." She rolls her eyes, turning away from him.

 

"I know for a fact, that you won't even wear anything underneath,” he continues as he loosens the decorated sash around his shoulder, laying the sash on the bed. 

 

"Jealous, Your Highness?" She's mocking him and he knows it, but god, does it sound sexy coming from her mouth.

 

“Please,” Steve scoffs, unbuckling his belt and slipping his jacket off onto the bed. “I don't know what you see in him.”

 

Her eyes leave him. She slips the dress on, no word escaping her lips as she fastens the hooks.

 

He pulls his skintight, white T-shirt up off of him, tossing it behind him as he walks towards her from behind. Wearing nothing but his slacks and footwear, his hands land between her waist and her cunt, pressing his rock-hard front against her back. When she arches, his lips find her neck. The sharp nip of his teeth draws no protest from her. Her moan welcomes the feeling. 

 

“Marry me instead,” he says against her skin, trailing his tongue on her collarbone. 

 

He can’t be serious. She knows him. He’s...not the type to want a committed relationship—or so she thought—hence why they broke up.

 

And yet, there she was, still caving to his touch, biting her lips in anticipation for whatever he was to do next. 

 

“That’s a joke, right?” She says, panting for air.

 

He presses her closer to his evident need. “Does it feel like I'm joking?” 

 

They look at each other with lust-darkened eyes. He licks his bottom lip into a smile. She pulls his neck down, snaking her tongue into his mouth, grinding her ass into his groin in appreciation.

 

“You know I can’t marry you,” she whispers against his lips, her eyes open and locked on him.

 

She walks back towards the bed, sitting to slip her black high heels onto her feet. 

 

He leans against the nearest bedpost and crosses his arms over his chest. “I want you back, okay? I want us back. Is that what you want to hear?”

 

She smiles as she continues to buckle her heels. “Yes, actually.”

 

He dislodges himself from the bedpost. “You already know I want you,” he states as she finishes putting her heels on. She stands up; he tucks his hands under her ass—she mewls at his touch. 

 

His voice drops into a low whisper as he says in-between open-mouthed kisses, “I always want you.”

 

But a pang of jealousy surged through her (which usually isn’t a bad thing, because it leads to jealous sex, and their jealous sex is always so hot). She rests her arms on his, her small fingers wrapping around his large biceps in a bruising grip, just how he loves it. “Is that what you told Lady Helen last weekend?” 

 

He smiles as he bites the tops of each of her breasts, his shaved jaw rubbing deliciously against her skin. “Are you reading tabloids again?” 

 

She tilts her head back, allowing him to trail his lips down the length of her neck. “You know I'm not doing anything with her, or any woman for that matter. Not when there’s you.” He moves her dress and she yelps as his fingers stroke her—well, insert whatever body part you want here.

 

“Fuck you,” she groans.

 

His fingers slow, yet still teasing. “Tell me to stop, then.” He thinks he hears her whimper.

 

She doesn’t. She can’t. She wants this just as much as he does; she’s practically aching for it. And while, she knows that she shouldn’t, that she needs to make Bruce fall for her for the sake of her house, she can’t help herself. Her hand tightens around his, speeding up his ministrations on her.

 

His free hand slides a strap to her dress off of her shoulder, exposing a breast to him. His mouth bends to her breast, sucking her nipple deep and hard and he can't hold back a grin when she lets out a soft moan. She feels his teeth bite on it just right, and she smiles in ecstasy. She imagines that this is what Eve must’ve felt when the snake had tempted her to take a bite off of the forbidden fruit. 

 

“I have to go.” Her voice is barely above a whisper, but she’s biting back, using crassness as a last resort to stop herself from caving. She pushes his hand away, fixing her dress back into place.

 

“Then go, Natasha.” He's being an asshole, now.

 

She begins taking her first step away from him, when he speaks again. “See if he makes you wet like I do.”

 

She closes her eyes and huffs. “Steve.”

 

She can feel him walking back towards her; she’s holding her breath when he steps back behind her. “Makes you come like I do.”

 

She curls her hands into fists, fighting the urge to turn to him, to give all of herself to him. “My hairstylist is waiting for me.”

 

His left hand pulls her from her waist, her ass brushing against his groin. One of his hands travels down to her pussy, moves her dress out of the way once again, and rubs circles on her drenched clit.

 

Just as she moans out his name, his free hand forcefully tears at the fabric of her dress until it’s completely torn up, causing her to startle and yelp with surprise.

 

Astonished, horrified, she turns to him, outraged. But then he just backs her up against the door. He places his palms on both sides of her, empowering her, locking her in-between the door and his own body. “I told you, this is my favorite dress.”

 

She slaps his face. “You selfish asshole,” she utters. “If you love it so much, why’d you ruin it?”

 

He smirks as he slides the dress off her shoulders, allowing it to fall to the floor. “That way, no one else can see you wear it again.” 

 

And that was it. She couldn’t not fuck him. 

 

Huffing and biting down on her bottom lip, her lips attack his with hunger and urgency. Not knowing where to touch or hold, his lips leave hers as he squats down, gripping her legs and prying them apart. He licks the juice dripping down her inner thigh as he slowly pushes two fingers deep inside of her, more of her juice squirting out onto his hand. 

 

She hits the back of her head against the door. Her sharp, manicured fingernails follow an agenda of their own, pulling at strands of his hair and digging his scalp. His sucking at her clit sends a sharp shock through her, making her back arch and her knees tremble.

 

He hikes one of her legs over his shoulder as he spreads her legs further to welcome his face to her folds. He grabs her hands to spread herself wide open for him, as he uses his own to undo his slacks and reach into his boxer briefs. He strokes himself as he slicks her up nicely. He watches her grind his face in a circular motion, matching the rhythm of his tongue in her cunt, her heel piercing his skin.

 

His nose rubs at her clit while his tongue teases her throbbing, soaked sex, creating a deadly intoxication of pleasure for her. In a desperate tone of voice, she pleads, “Make me come, Steve.”

 

She feels his tongue leave her. And he stands up. “You...you’re done?” She whimpers, as he rubs her swollen clit again. “Of course not, baby,” he whispers in her ear, his tongue brushing her earlobe. “Tell me you're mine first.”

 

“Fuck you,” she stammers, breathless.

 

Steve chuckles, low and sexy. “That’s what I intend to do, Princess.”

 

He lifts her, slams her against the clear, large window and is mouthing at her neck, sucking hard enough to bruise. 

 

“What are you doing?” She hisses. “Anyone can see us, you asshole.” Outside, everyone is in a frenzy: bystanders gasp and stare, paparazzi flash their cameras, passersby stop in their tracks. Although her face isn't visible, her auburn, wavy hair is a dead giveaway.

  
“On your left, baby,” he breathes into her ear.

 

With a quick look over her shoulder, she sees Bruce in the garden. “You son of a—oh, god, yes.” He buries his cock in her pussy, her wetness drowning him.

 

“You planned this—you knew—” She tries to get out, but his fast, hard thrusts are distracting her. 

 

“Of course, I knew,” he answers before kissing her like he’s starving for her. “I knew he'd be out there. But I also knew you'd enjoy this—showing off my love, for the world to see.” 

 

She smirks, capturing his lips in a bruising kiss. She feels the tide of her climax beginning to crest. And when she finally came, she had to bite back the cry that desperately wanted to escape her lips. Even if what they were doing was wrong, it felt so fucking right. Her parents and society be damned.

 

The moment she manages to descend from her high, she kisses him desperately. He’s still thrusting, and she breaks the kiss to gasp his name. 

 

“God, the way you say my name,” he whispers as he bites her bottom lip. 

 

She lets out a moan, tightening her hands in his combed-over, blond hair. “You know my parents are going to kill me.” But it'd be worth it. He’s worth it.

 

He looks down at the crowd. “You think they’ll want an encore? ‘Cause I can do this all day.” He smirks when she laughs.

 

“Fuck,” she whimpers when he brushes against a spot that has her toes curling in pure ecstasy, feeling another orgasm beginning. “Steve, I’m gonna—”

 

“Tell me, baby.” His hips slam against hers as she grips onto his back urgently. He wants to come with her, but he also wants to tease her. “Say it, and I'll let you come again.”

 

She tightens her legs around his waist to pull him closer. “Say what?” 

 

“That you’re mine.” His hand snakes between them to rub her clit while thrusting into her deeply and rapidly. “That this is mine.”

 

She nods because it’s true. There’s no doubt about it and he doesn’t really need her to tell him that. But she does because damn it, she needs to come again, and their sex talk is really kind of hot. “My pussy is all yours, baby, as long as this ass,” she pokes the edge of her heels into the best-looking ass she has ever seen on a man, “is mine.”

 

“All yours, baby,” he moans. “Fuck, Natasha, I’m gonna come—”

 

She nods in approval. “It’s okay, baby.” 

 

He buries his face against the crook of her neck, coming inside of her with a bone-deep shudder that vibrates through her entire body, her orgasm synchronous with his. He bites her neck, his teeth scraping her skin. She grazes her teeth on his earlobe, his deep moan into her neck making her thighs clench. As he captures her lips, she drops all of her weight on him, her legs too weak to stand. 

 

And as for Bruce, let’s just say that, she never made it to the ball.


End file.
